


Getting Home

by Lightcudder



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Blood, Injury, International Rescue, Pain, crash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-30
Updated: 2010-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:46:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightcudder/pseuds/Lightcudder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Virgil Tracy makes an error.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting Home

A Thunderbirds Story  
By  
Lightcudder  
©November2009

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners.  
The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story.  
The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material.  
No copyright infringement is intended

 

Virgil looked down at the control panel; all lights green, all systems fully operational. TB2 was functioning at maximum efficiency, unlike him. The thick bandage he had wrapped around his forearm was already sodden with blood, a testimony to the difficult time he had endured. He was sore, bruised and battered; not an unusual state of affairs after a rescue, but he was beginning to wonder if he would be able to make the remaining  forty-five minute flight back to base

It wasn’t as if he could hand the controls over to anyone else either. Alan was in 5 with John, on the regular handover trip, and Gordon was still recovering from the last underwater  rescue he had undertaken when he had nearly drowned.

 Jeff had decided that the emergency call to rescue the workmen, trapped in a cellar under the derelict factory that had collapsed above them, only needed the services of Scott, to oversee the operation and direct activities, and Virgil to drive the Mole under the ground. It was, in theory, a relatively simple task, one that Virgil had undertaken numerous times before without any support, but this time it had gone wrong.

As Virgil had exited the Mole to direct the workmen towards its cramped and confined interior, a heavy shard of glass slithered down from the remnants of a shattered pane, and dropped dagger-like down through the space above the men. Virgil, ever alert to the dangers present in collapsed buildings pushed him aside, but was too late to do anything other than try to protect his face as the glass splinter sliced through the tough sleeve of his uniform  and through into the flesh below.

He had tried to bandage the gaping wound as soon as he was safely back inside the Mole, but its First aid kit was woefully inadequate for the task. Instead he concentrated on getting the men out to safety and getting himself back into TB2. He called Scott and gave a succinct report on the incident but didn’t feel it necessary to tell his brother  that the wound was deep and although no artery had been severed, he was still losing blood faster than he would have liked.

Scott would have insisted on taking him to the nearest hospital and that would involve security being compromised. No; he would be okay until he got home.

But now he realised that he would be lucky to get back to base. The arm was throbbing intensely and he had to breathe deeply and with control in order to deal with the increasing pain. He began to shiver, and checked the cockpit temperature to see if there was a problem. No it was registering normal. The problem must be with him then. He realised that the loss of blood was beginning to affect him.

He leaned forward to raise the temperature and a wave of dizziness swept over him so strongly that he nearly fainted.  He looked down. Blood was pooling in patterns on the  imprinted rubber floor and drying in brown streaks where it had splashed.

He realised then that he was not going to make it back, certainly not without some emergency first aid, and somehow he didn’t think he was capable of that now, particularly as he was getting colder by the minute.

He switched to the emergency frequency ‘Mayday, Mayday. Dad, Virgil here. I’m going to have to put her down on the water. I’m losing blood and I won’t be able to reach base. You will have to get someone out here soon. Sorry,’ he apologised, in a daze of light-headedness.

Shaking with cold and beginning to feel feverish, he put her down as carefully and gently as he could.

With a creaking groan of stressed metal she settled on the water, wallowing helplessly in the troughs between the swells. Virgil knew that she could take the punishment. She was water-tight and air-tight if it came to that, and her hull would be able to stand the constant movement from the waves. But would he?

It was at least another thirty minutes to base and although TB1 would have reached there already he knew that Scott would not be able to do much to help him out. TB1 was simply never designed for landing on water.

Virgil, dazed and confused, shivering with shock slumped in his seat, barely conscious.

Jeff Tracy tried desperately, in vain to rouse his son over the radio. It was useless. He knew that TB2 would be floating adrift on the ocean’s surface. He thought, rapidly, turning over ideas and scenarios in his mind, trying to come up with a workable solution to save his son.

Scott and Gordon stood by, helpless until their father had made his decision.

‘Scott; launch  Thunderbird 1 and circle the island. Gordon; get TB4 out through her direct access tunnel and surface as soon as you are in clear water. Scott will then pick you up with his grapples and transport you to Two’s last position. It is the quickest way to get you there but won’t be particularly pleasant. Scott will lower you down and you can get close enough to Two using TB4 to get inside her and help Virgil. TinTin will go with you; she’s the expert here in dealing with medical emergencies. Once you’re both on board Scott can pick Four up again and bring her back here. You will have to get Thunderbird 2 launched and back here as quickly as possible. Any questions?’

‘No, Dad.’ They answered simultaneously then both turned and ran for their respective rescue vehicles.

 

Once TB4 was clear of the Island, Scott carefully lowered the grapples and connected with the little yellow submersibles hull.

She was such a small, fragile looking little thing, he thought, comparing her with his own streamlined beauty that could cut through the atmosphere so swiftly. But he knew that Four had hidden reserves of strength and power and could dive deeper than the most powerful ocean exploration vessels.

As TB4 swayed precariously at the end of the grapples, Gordon began to feel slightly queasy. He never suffered from sea-sickness, even in the foulest weather conditions, but this was not natural.

TB4 should have been slipping through the water, her brilliant beams of light illuminating the hidden depths, trails of bubbles marking her passage, not hanging like a dead fish below its bigger counterpart.

Still, Gordon knew that it was vitally important to get to Virgil as quickly as possible, and this way was, he had to admit, quicker than him going all the way by sea.

Ahead Scott could see the dark green shape of TB2, rolling like an ungainly balloon in the heavy swell. He steered One closer and gently, oh so gently, lowered his aquanaut brother and to the surface in the tiny sub.

Only when he knew that 4 was settled on the water did he retract the grapples and back off, leaving Gordon and TinTin to approach the powered down transport vehicle that looked so out of place, rolling lazily on the blue water like a huge grassy tussock.

It was extraordinarily difficult accessing the outer ground level airlock to get into TB2. All the Tracy men knew the codes to enter every craft, but the act of punching in the access codes, normally so simple when standing on a firm surface, was almost impossible when bobbing up and down in the swell of the South Pacific Ocean.

Gordon was almost sobbing with frustration and dismay by the time he finally managed to punch in the last digit and the door slid open with a welcome hiss. He practically fell inside, turning to help TinTin clamber over the threshold while water gushed in to flood the lower deck area. TinTin dragged her paramedic bag with her, thankful that it was completely watertight. They hurried through the craft, heading for the  lift up to the cockpit as behind them the hatch slid shut and automatic pumps began to suck the unwanted seawater out.

There was a thunderous roar from outside as Scott hovered over the abandoned TB4 and reattached the grapples to the hull. Then with a sound like tearing silk, he powered up the thrusters on his supersonic jet and lifted her smoothly and swiftly into the sky, her precious cargo dangling beneath.

The lift stopped and Gordon and TinTin stepped out into the cockpit. Virgil lay slumped in his seat, prevented from falling by his safety harness. Blood trickled slowly down his arm and dripped off his motionless fingers into a sticky crimson puddle.

Gently TinTin eased him upright in the pilot’s seat before checking him over.

‘Ok Gordon, let’s get him out of this chair and onto the floor. It’ll be easier for me if he’s lying down.’

Virgil was a dead weight as they moved him, Gordon checking to see that he was still breathing he seemed so lifeless. As TinTin began treating his brother Gordon searched for a blankets and  pillow to make his brother more comfortable.

‘TinTin, aren’t you going to  treat his arm?’ he queried.

‘Not yet,’ she replied, her eyes watching the contents of a blood transfusion packet dripping into Virgil through the IV cannula. ‘If I unwrap it here than I may well disturb any clots that have already formed and I’d rather see to it when I have some proper equipment back at base. There doesn’t seem to be any arterial blood so he should recover pretty quickly once it has been stitched and dressed.’ She leaned back, relieved that Virgil was beginning to regain some of his natural healthy colour.

Gordon moved into the pilot’s chair, feeling the uncomfortably damp wetness of blood on the seat and the armrest. He paused, reflecting for a long moment on the mental turmoil that his brother must have endured as he flew his giant Thunderbird solo across the empty sky and back to base, knowing full well that he was haemorrhaging blood at an unacceptable rate. The younger Tracy looked back at his much loved brother, still and silent on the floor and nodded to TinTin.

‘Okay if we take off now TinTin? Will Virg be okay? It might be more than a bit bumpy at first at least until I get this beast in the air.’

‘Sure thing Gordon,’ she reassured him confidently, ‘the sooner we get him back to base the better.’

Gordon switched the engines to full capacity. TB2 was a lumbering scow on the water, but he knew that, once in the air she was a beautiful graceful lady. It was just going to take some doing to get her off the ocean’s surface. Unable to use the downward VTOL thrusters he was going to have to rely solely on her massive jet engines to get her airborne, and they were not designed to thrust against a fluid, mobile surface.

‘Here goes’ he muttered to himself, pushing the controls to maximum in an attempt to lift her nose slightly. It was no use. She simply sat there, unresponsive and temperamental.

‘Shit.’

He sat, waiting and watching the sea heaving gently as soft, rounded mounds of water slowly travelled across the ocean.

‘Right. Got it.’ and he timed the next thrust of the enormous engines to occur just as the nose of Virgil’s craft was raised infinitesimally by the oncoming surge. It was enough for her. She lifted herself up, responded to his delicate touch on the controls and with a sudden surge and a shudder rose in one smooth sinuous movement up from her watery resting place and into her own real environment.

Water streamed from her, cascading down her glossy sides in rivulets  and miniature torrents and once fully airborne she pirouetted with the delicacy and grace of a prima ballerina, and leapt forward, eager to escape from the shackles of the unfamiliar, ever greedy sea.

Once back at base, with TB4 safely in her Pod, TB1 settled on her launch pad and TB2 now dry and in her concealed hangar, the family gathered together in the lounge. Virgil had been the first priority for them all, but he was now sleeping and TinTin assured them all that he would recover quickly.

‘Well, that was a rescue with a difference.’ Scott said, relaxing on the sofa.

‘Yes, it’s taught me one thing however.’ Gordon replied, picking up his drink and sipping it appreciatively.

‘Oh?’ Jeff looked at him quizzically.

‘Yes, Dad. However much the rest of you might mock my little yellow sub, she’s still the only one truly at home on the sea. She may not have the grace and speed of TB1 or the strength of TB2, but she’s a real winner when it comes to the oceans. And as the world is over seventy percent water I think that makes her the most important Thunderbird we have!’  and he leaned back in his chair, quietly appreciating the gentle laughter that rang around the room. 

   
Lightcudder

 


End file.
